


Close Quarters

by NoShipsLikePartnerships



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Fluff, Lab Accidents, Light Angst, M/M, Pining, Pre-Canon, Quarantine, tendo and pentecost make cameos via intercom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:28:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23586115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoShipsLikePartnerships/pseuds/NoShipsLikePartnerships
Summary: "Gentlemen," Pentecost's voice rumbles over the intercom, "I'm afraid that, as per protocol, the lab is under lockdown for the next twenty-four hours.""What?" Hermann asks, aghast, at the same time that Newt demands, "And who's the idiot that came up with that protocol?""You are."(or, after a minor lab accident, Newt and Hermann are stuck in quarantine)
Relationships: Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb
Comments: 11
Kudos: 100





	Close Quarters

**Author's Note:**

  * For [richiecrispie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/richiecrispie/gifts).



> For Isa, who asked if I could write newmann in quarantine after Newt fucks something up in the lab. This took a little longer than expected because it kind of got away from me a bit lol, but I hope you like it! <3
> 
> I spent a lot of time trying to figure out the layout of the lab and in the end, just decided to take some liberties with it. Also, I tried to incorporate what I could find on the pacrim wiki about kaiju blue, etc. but considering it's all made-up alien biology, it works the way I need it to. I don't think anyone's really here for the scientific accuracy, anyway.

Newt doesn't mean for it to happen.

He's been running on too much caffeine, and too little sleep the past few days, and as a result, is maybe just a _little_ more tightly wound than he might normally be. But, in his defence, it's not totally his fault—Hermann's gotta be at least partly to blame, here. He started it.

Well. Okay. Newt can't remember who _actually_ started it—their bickering's become a regular occurrence, at this point—but Hermann's been in a _mood_ all morning, so there's a good chance that it was him.

"I'm merely saying that you could be a _little_ more considerate," Hermann gripes, "about keeping your side of the lab clean."

Newt's too busy with his newest sample to pay much attention to him, trying to hook it up to the "milking machine" (admittedly, not exactly one of his most inspired moments—the name had started as an in-joke, and then had just stuck) to extract all the dangerous shit inside, so that he can safely dissect it after.

"—are you even listening to a word I'm saying?"

"You know what?" Newt shoots back, slamming his hands down onto the table. Too late, he notices that the machine is balanced a little too precariously near the edge. Watches as it wobbles, almost in slow motion, and then falls as it succumbs to gravity.

The machine crashes to the floor, taking the sample with it, which lands with a wet splat, as the Blue begins to seep out underneath it. Newt stares at the mess for a second, swearing, before his brain finally kicks in and he springs into action.

He grabs the emergency canister from beside his desk, hurriedly spraying the neutralizing agent over everything. Unfortunately, not fast enough—an alarm begins to blare, and the heavy, metal door of the lab slides shut with an ominous hiss.

"Oh, shit."

On the opposite side of the lab, Hermann stands, frozen, his knuckles almost as white as the chalk he's still clutching.

"Hermann? You okay?" Newt shouts over the alarm.

"What..." he says slowly, swallowing, "what did you do?"

"It's fine, I neutralized it!"

They both jump as the lab's intercom crackles to life.

"You guys alright in there?" Tendo asks, once the static clears.

"Yeah, just a little mishap," Newt answers, "we're fine. You can, uh, you can go ahead and open the door now, thanks."

"About that—" Tendo begins, but is abruptly cut off.

"Gentlemen," Pentecost's voice rumbles over the intercom, "I'm afraid that, as per protocol, the lab is under lockdown for the next twenty-four hours."

" _What_?" Hermann asks, aghast, at the same time that Newt demands, "And who's the idiot that came up with _that_ protocol?"

"You are."

There's a beat, as Newt pauses. He does, vaguely, remember outlining something like that at one point, like, a _million_ years ago.

"Fuck."

"Sir, please—" Hermann says, as if he can somehow change the Marshal's mind.

"I suggest you make yourselves comfortable," Pentecost continues, "Mr. Choi will be checking in with you throughout the day to monitor your conditions. If at any point you believe yourselves to be ill, please let us know immediately."

The intercom goes silent. Mercifully, so does the alarm.

"Why twenty-four hours?"

"Huh?"

Hermann repeats the question. "Why twenty-four hours? I thought the reaction was usually much quicker than that."

"Most of the time it is, yeah," Newt explains, "but not always. In some cases, it can take up to twenty-four hours for any symptoms to develop."

It was a _very_ small percentage, but at the time, he'd figured it was better to be safe than sorry and all that. Now that he's the one in quarantine, though, he's starting to regret that decision.

"Also," he adds, "we should probably stay away from that side of the lab, just in case."

"In case of what? You just said it was safe."

"It probably is, but you can't be too careful with this stuff."

This means that everything on his workbench is off-limits (the samples are as good as useless now, anyway), as are Hermann's chalkboards on the opposite side. Any and all of the work that they were doing that morning needs to be put on pause.

"Wonderful," Hermann mutters, "just _bloody_ fantastic."

He storms off, in a way that would probably be more dramatic if he had farther to go than the other side of the room.

It's going to be a long day.

**Hour One**

"This sucks."

"Yes, and whose fault is that?" Hermann huffs, not even bothering to look up from the book he's reading—one of those giant physics textbooks that would probably put Newt to sleep after the first few sentences.

"Do you plan on bringing that up the entire time?"

"Yes."

Newt rolls his eyes. "And you call _me_ childish. How are you feeling, anyway?"

"Fine." Hermann finally glances over in Newt's direction. "You?"

"So far, so good. Only..." he glances at the clock, "twenty-three more hours to go."

Things could be worse, Newt reasons. At least they have a bathroom in there, and some food too (pre-packaged and uncontaminated). And coffee. Not that Newt probably needs more coffee, at this point, but it's good to have the option.

They've also accumulated a lot of stuff since being stationed in Hong Kong, so Newt's sure that they'll be able to find plenty of ways to distract themselves and pass the time.

"I'm sure the day will just fly by," Hermann deadpans.

"You know," Newt says, annoyed, "I can think of tons of places I'd rather be right now."

"Yes, well, I'd rather be _anywhere_ else than trapped here with _you_."

"That's cold, dude." Newt crosses his arms. "Look, we're going to be stuck here for a while, so let's just, I dunno, try and make the most of it. Or at least try not to kill each other."

It's almost torture, like a cruel twist of fate, to find himself stuck in here with someone—hell, the one person—that he cares about this much, who clearly can't stand to be around him. Because, as it turns out, even after everything that's happened between them, Newt can't seem to get his stupid heart to stop feeling... _feelings_. Ugh.

"Don't you have anything productive that you could be doing?" Hermann asks irritably. "Anything at all?"

"Fine," Newt snaps, "be that way."

He pulls out his desk chair with his boot, purposefully letting its legs scrape loudly against the floor, and drops into it, arms still folded across his chest.

Hermann winces at the sound, then goes back to his book, pointedly ignoring him.

**Hour Three**

They eat lunch—a couple of extra bread rolls that Newt had grabbed from the mess the day before, and some protein bars—in relative silence.

'Relative' in this case meaning that he makes a big show of tearing the wrappers off his food as noisily as possible, while Hermann looks like he wants to throttle him.

It's only been a couple of hours, but Newt's already running out of things to do. Well, work things, anyway. He filled in the stupid, boring paperwork that he usually puts off until the last minute. All of his emails have been answered. Tendo checked in on them a few times, just to make sure they're still okay. It was nice to hear a _friendly_ voice, even if only for a few seconds.

He stops eating as he notices Hermann staring at him from his desk. "What?" Newt asks, mouth still full. Hermann makes a disgusted face.

"You chew too loudly."

Newt grabs one of the wrappers from his desk, balls it up, and tosses it in Hermann's direction. It's too light to make it very far, though, and they both watch as it flutters sadly to the ground instead.

After a beat, Hermann says, "I hope you're planning on picking that up."

It takes what's left of Newt's self-control (not that he has much to begin with, really) to keep himself from throwing anything else.

Yup, things are going just _great_.

**Hour Five**

At this point, Newt's completely given up on trying to get any actual work done. Hermann's still making a valiant effort to copy down some equations in a notebook, though, despite the noise.

For the past twenty minutes, Newt's been alternating between his guitars and keyboards. When he first got to Hong Kong, he'd only had the one guitar, which he'd brought with him from Boston—it was his very first one, the one he learned to play on—and the collection has only grown since then. It now includes multiple guitars, keyboards, a piano, and even a set of bongos that Newt found at a pawn shop. Every once in a while, when he needs a break from work, playing music helps him unwind.

It also has the added benefit of annoying the shit out of Hermann, which always makes for a good time. For Newt, anyway.

"For the love of God," Hermann bites out, "please. Stop."

"Or you could join me." Newt knows, for a fact, that Hermann can play the piano. "We could have our own little jam session, what do you say?"

"Absolutely not."

"Hey, it's that or I move on to the bongos next."

Hermann turns to him in mild horror. "You wouldn't dare."

"Oh, wouldn't I?"

The bongos, played well, are already an irritating sound.

Newt does not play the bongos well.

Hermann snaps his pencil in half.

**Hour Six**

"Do you have any fives?"

"Go fish."

It's not the most exciting card game ever, but Hermann doesn't know any of the more complicated ones, and refuses to let Newt teach him, even now. Newt had considered looking for the chess board that's probably somewhere in storage, but thinks that if they play, there's a very real chance it would end in actual murder. At least he's managed to convince Hermann to stop working, though he suspects that Hermann was finally starting to get bored anyway (which is saying something, considering the man's chosen profession).

It _is_ kind of funny how seriously he's taking the game, peering at Newt over thetop of the cards he's holding close to his face, eyes owlish behind those ridiculously round glasses of his. What's less funny is how _good_ he seems to be at it.

"Have you got any eights?"

"Goddamn it," Newt mutters, throwing down the card. Hermann slides it over to his side of the table with a smirk, the smug bastard. "Best two out of three?"

**Hour Seven**

"You know," Newt says, "it's too bad we don't have a dart board in here."

"You should consider that a blessing," Hermann says dryly. "You'd only end up injuring yourself."

"Hey, I'm great at darts," Newt protests (he is, at most, fairly decent at darts). "What, like you're some kind of dart pro or something?"

"I'll have you know that I am excellent at darts," Hermann sniffs. "It's all a matter of physics, you see."

"Uh-huh."

"I was on a team in university, we won several competitions at the local pub."

"You _what_?" Newt tries to picture Hermann, of all people, in an honest-to-goodness British pub. It's a little mind-boggling.

"Don't believe me?" Hermann asks, and that's practically a challenge, isn't it?

There's only one way to find out.

Newt tapes push-pins to a bunch of unsharpened pencils, gluing little pieces of paper to the other ends as instructed, while Hermann traces a circle onto some graph paper, carefully drawing the different sections, then tacks the makeshift target onto the bulletin board.

They play. Newt ends up being hilariously bad at it, and watches in disbelief as Hermann wipes the floor with him.

"What the _fuck_ ," Newt whispers, after Hermann's last pencil joins the others in a neat cluster right in the bull's eye. Newt's, meanwhile, are scattered all over the floor.

Hermann raises an eyebrow and, in a mocking tone, asks, "Best two out of three?"

Newt scowls at him.

**Hour Nine**

No more games, Newt decides. Hermann keeps kicking his ass, which he's sure he'll never hear the end of, now. Maybe if they had a playstation or something in here, he might stand a chance. Maybe.

There's all kinds of old junk in the storage room, but Newt finds what he's looking for pretty quickly.

"You can't be serious," Hermann says, as Newt wheels an old CRT TV on a stand into the room. Sure, it's a little outdated—outside of the lab, Newt hasn't seen one of these since he was in school, but it's still functional. At least, he's pretty sure it is, they'll find out soon enough.

"Dude, I am running out of ideas here. So unless you have any other suggestions..."

"Is that a _VCR_?" Hermann asks, incredulous. Newt looks down at the device sitting under the television set.

"Yes," Newt says, "yes it is."

He's been meaning to dig it out for a while. A little while ago, he managed to acquire some vintage VHS tapes when he was downtown, which just so happen to still be in one of his desk drawers.

"Okay," Newt says, holding up the tapes, "our choices are the original Godzilla, in all its black and white, unedited glory—"

Hermann makes a face, which Newt interprets as a "no."

"—or some old-school episodes of Doctor Who. And I mean _old_ old-school," he specifies. He's always been a fan of the newer incarnation of the show, and has been working his way through the classic series.

"... which Doctor?" Hermann asks tentatively. Newt grins.

"I've got Second and Third, depending on what you're in the mood for."

"Hm," Hermann says, sounding a little disappointed. "I've always been partial to Hartnell, actually. But Pertwee will do just fine."

Newt snorts. "I'm not surprised that you like the grumpy ones. Okay, Third Doctor it is, then."

"Which serial is it?"

"Invasion of the Dinosaurs."

Hermann sighs. "Of course."

Newt pops the tape into the VCR. The video quality isn't the best and, as these tapes aren't official versions, there are Cantonese subtitles, but in Newt's opinion, it only adds to the experience. And, as a bonus, this particular story is six parts, so that's another two and a half hours down.

The dinosaurs turn out to be pretty ridiculous-looking, even for something filmed in the '70s with a shoestring budget, but it's still entertaining as hell. Especially Hermann's reactions to the whole thing, which range from scoffing at the 'science' to actually getting a little emotional at the end.

"So," Newt asks while the credits roll, "what do you think? Would you re-write history if you could?"

"That's science-fiction, Newton."

"Hermann, we live in a world where giant alien monsters come out of the ocean. Humor me."

"There's no way of knowing what altering historical events would do," Hermann says, "you could cease to exist. And if you didn't, you wouldn't be the same you who went back in the first place. The paradoxes alone would—"

Newt holds up a hand. "Fine. What about on a personal level? There's nothing you'd maybe like to do over?" Newt's definitely thinking of one incident he wishes had gone differently, and wonders if Hermann is, too.

Hermann purses his lips for a moment, then turns back to the TV. "It's science-fiction," he repeats, and they leave it at that.

**Hour Eleven (and a half)**

After dinner, which is just as disappointing as lunch, if not more so, because it's basically just their leftovers, Newt tries to think of something else for them to do.

"How about some music? To listen to, I mean," Newt waves a hand at the instruments before Hermann can object, "not make. Unless you've changed your mind about that?"

"I have not."

Newt goes over to his computer and searches his playlist for something upbeat—the '80s mix should do the trick—then presses 'play.' The opening of Starship's 'We Built This City' fills the air.

Hermann groans at the song choice. "Really?"

"What's that?" Newt shouts, turning up the volume. "Sorry, I can't hear you over the sound of how awesome this is!"

He starts singing along, a bit off-key as the song's not quite in his vocal range. " _We built this city, we built this city on rock and roll!_ "

Hermann cracks a smile. It's a fucking miracle.

Newt's dancing isn't much better than his singing, but it makes Hermann laugh, which is music to Newt's ears.

"C'mon," Newt insists, and pulls Hermann up off the couch to join him, with surprisingly little resistance. He's careful, of course, moving slowly, and swings their arms together from side to side along with the music.

Newt's honestly kind of shocked that Hermann's going along with it, but he seems to be full of surprises today. They won't be winning any dance competitions, that's for sure, but that doesn't matter. What does matter is that they're making the best of a bad situation, one that could've been a hell of a lot worse.

When the song ends, they collapse onto the couch together, laughing. That was actually pretty fun? It's also probably the most time they've spent together without arguing, which is nice. As much as the arguing can be fun too, sometimes, in its own way, Newt wouldn't mind more moments like this.

Their laughter dies down, and they're left facing each other, breathing hard. Newt licks his lips, and Hermann's eyes follow the movement, before returning to meet Newt's gaze.

"Newton, I..."

"Yeah?" Newt answers quickly, hoping he doesn't sound too... hopeful? Desperate?

Hermann looks away, before continuing. "I wouldn't mind watching something else, if you'd like."

"Oh," Newt says, a little surprised, and maybe just a tiny bit disappointed. Not that he was expecting anything in particular, but still. "Yeah, sure."

He gets up to turn off the music and put another tape in the VCR—the Second Doctor story 'The Mind Robber' which is a bit silly, but almost another two hours—before sitting back down on the couch.

Hermann's eyes are fixed on the screen the entire time, but Newt's watching something else, instead.

**Hour Fourteen**

"I suppose we should probably call it a night, then."

Newt looks up. "Why, what time is it?"

Considering the lab has no windows, it's always been easy to lose track of the time here, even before this. The clock, however, reveals that it's gotten pretty late. They might as well try and get some sleep, if only because it'll get them to tomorrow that much faster.

Newt turns the TV off, and looks around. Their only options are the couch, which is probably too small for them both (plus he doubts Hermann would be into _that_ ), or the floor.

"You can have the couch," Newt offers, because he's too tired to fight about it, and it'll be more comfortable for Hermann, anyway.

"What about you?"

Newt shrugs. "It's fine, I'll take the floor. I got us into this mess, it's the least I can do."

For a second, he thinks Hermann's going to argue, but he doesn't. Newt figures he probably deserves that.

There's just the one blanket, folded over the back of the couch, which Newt also lets Hermann have, because the man is always complaining about being cold.

He grabs his hardly-used lab coat and balls it up, using it as a makeshift pillow, and lies down. It's not really that comfortable, but it'll do—Newt doubts that he'll be getting much sleep, anyway. Most nights are like that, lately. He'll be exhausted and craving that blissful unawareness, his mind just barely brushing up against it, but unable to fully get there. Instead, there's just this sort of nervous thrumming throughout his whole body. Could be the thought of the end of the world bearing down on them. Could be his anxiety. Probably a bit of both.

Newt closes his eyes, and hopes for the best.

**Hour Unknown**

Newt isn't sure how much time passes but, unsurprisingly, he's still awake.

Maybe he should've tried reading that physics book after all.

The only lights left on in the lab are their respective desk lamps, so that they don't crash into anything if they have to get up in the middle of the night. Newt shifts slightly, looking over at the couch. He can't tell if Hermann is asleep or not.

Trying not to make too much noise, he puts on his glasses, then pads over to the bathroom. Flicking the light on, he closes the door behind him, then turns the faucet on, splashing some water on his face. When he looks in the mirror, he sees that the dark circles under his eyes are a lot more obvious, now. Even with his glasses, which usually do a pretty decent job of hiding them.

Also, his hands have started to shake a bit, which is just fucking great, really, he doesn't need this right now. He holds on to the edge of the counter, trying to steady himself. After a few seconds, and some deep breaths, he opens the door.

Hermann is standing on the other side, and Newt jumps back in surprise, heart pounding. "Shit, dude, you scared the crap out of me!"

"I'm sorry," Hermann says, "I saw the light on, and..." he squints at Newt, whose hands are still shaking. "Are you alright?"

"I, uh, might have forgotten to take my meds this morning? And they're currently in my room, so..." By the time Newt had actually realized this, about halfway through the day, there wasn't much he could do, so he hadn't bothered to mention it.

"Oh, Newton..." Hermann murmurs, unexpectedly soft. He takes one of Newt's trembling hands and leads him over to the couch. "Sit," he instructs. Newt sits, and Hermann goes over to the kitchenette, the sound of his cane against the floor somehow louder than usual at this hour. He turns on another lamp and starts rummaging through the cupboard, then fills the kettle with water. A few minutes later, he returns, steam rising out of the cup he's holding.

"What is it?" Newt asks, as Hermann presses the warm mug into his hands.

"Chamomile tea," Hermann answers, sitting down beside him. "I know it's not a substitute for your medication, but it will help you fall asleep."

Newt feels something pull at his heart. 

"Thanks." He blows on it, then takes a small sip. It's still pretty hot, but it's good.

Hermann doesn't say anything while Newt drinks his tea, just sits with him. It's not an awkward silence, or tense, like earlier. Just the comfortable, familiar silence between two people who've known each other for a very long time.

"Are you feeling any better?" Hermann eventually asks.

Newt isn't really sure how to answer that, and just stares down at the now half-empty cup. A little better than before, but the source of his anxiety is still present. It's not something he usually talks about, and tries even harder not to think about.

"I'm scared," he admits quietly, almost a whisper. "I don't want to die."

"Newton, you're not going to die, you haven't shown any symptoms—"

Newt shakes his head. "No, I know that. I meant, like, in general, I guess? I'm scared that we aren't going to _win_."

They'd been doing pretty well until recently. Until Alaska. Things have more or less been going downhill from there, as the kaiju seem to be getting stronger each time, and the Jaegers less equipped to deal with them. Newt's always tried to be optimistic about the human race's chances, but it's getting harder and harder each day.

He doesn't want the world to end. He doesn't want to regret all the things he hasn't done yet. The things he hasn't said.

It takes a few moments before Hermann responds. When he does, Newt can hear the uncertainty in his voice. He isn't sure if this makes him feel better, or scares him even more.

"So am I. The way that my calculations have been going..." Hermann trails off with a sigh. "Things don't look very good."

"So what do we do?" Newt asks, grip tightening on his mug.

"Our best," Hermann says. "We keep doing our jobs, and hope that it will be enough to make a difference."

Newt huffs out a laugh. "That simple, huh?"

Hermann smiles at him. "Yes."

He reaches over to place a hand on Newt's knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Newt wants to throw himself into Hermann's arms, and never let go. Instead, he just nods with a shaky smile of his own, and finishes his tea.

In the dim lighting, everything feels so surreal and still, that he's almost afraid to breathe for fear of disturbing it. Kind of like he's in a dream, one he doesn't want to wake up from, except he knows for a fact that he's not asleep. Somehow, that makes the moment feel even more fragile.

Hermann hasn't moved his hand, and is staring down at Newt, an expression on his face that Newt can't quite read.

"Hey, so if we're, uh, doing late-night confessions here, is there anything you want to get off your chest?" He says it jokingly, not really expecting an answer. He _definitely_ isn't expecting the answer that he does get.

"I... I would very much like to kiss you right now."

Newt's breath catches in his throat. "What?"

For as much as Hermann is a genius, he completely misinterprets this reaction. "I'm sorry, I... that was inappropriate—"

"No," Newt interrupts him quickly. "It's just that... well, I thought that you hated being stuck here with me. That you hated _me_."

"I only acted that way because I thought that's how you felt about me," Hermann says, shaking his head. "I suppose I was being a tad childish after all."

"I don't. I never have. I mean, I tried, believe me, but... I just can't. It's the... the opposite thing. You know." Newt stops rambling, and clears his throat. "That being said, I think that you should go for it."

Hermann doesn't need to be told twice. His hand travels up to the side of Newt's face, gently tilting it upward until their lips meet. It's tentative, at first, soft, and sweet. Then Hermann deepens the kiss, and Newt practically melts beneath him, leaning back against the couch cushions.

"I think the tea is working," Hermann observes with a chuckle, pulling away a little as Newt blinks up at him. His fingers gently stroke Newt's hair. "We can continue this tomorrow."

Hermann's right—Newt can feel himself about to finally pass out which, on the one hand, _good_ , but on other hand, bad timing. He begins to rise from the couch, but Hermann pulls him back down. Newt's surprised, but doesn't protest as Hermann shifts, manoeuvring them so that they're lying side by side, Newt's back pressed against Hermann's chest, and pulls the blanket over the two of them.

Newt takes off his glasses and places them on the arm of the couch, hoping that they don't topple off, but he doesn't think there'll be too much tossing and turning going on. Hermann slips an arm around Newt's waist, tugging him closer.

With the comforting warmth at his back, and the drowsiness brought on by the chamomile, Newt finally drifts off to sleep.

**Hour Twenty-four**

Newt wakes feeling better than he has in weeks.

He's alone on the couch, now, the blanket still draped over him, but he can hear Hermann moving around in the lab. Stretching, he reaches for his glasses and slides them on, the world around him coming into focus. He sits up just as Hermann reappears in front of him, again with a cup in hand.

"How did you sleep?"

"Really well, actually."

"I made some coffee. Decaf," Hermann specifies, "I didn't think that caffeine would be a good idea, but I know it's part of your routine."

Newt grabs the mug, closing his eyes as he inhales the sweet aroma. "I love you," he declares, and stops, eyes flying open again as he realizes what he's just said.

They stare at each for a moment, eyes wide. Then the intercom crackles to life, startling them. Newt almost drops his coffee.

"Doctors, looks like your time is up," Pentecost informs them. "You're free to go."

"Oh," Newt says, "good. Great. Yeah."

"Yes, th-thank you, Marshal," Hermann agrees, just before the intercom clicks off again.

The door slides open, revealing the hallway outside the lab. It's kind of funny, Newt thinks, that he'd almost forgotten there even _was_ an outside, that the whole world wasn't just him and Hermann and these four walls.

He should be happy about getting out of there, but now that they're finally allowed to leave, Newt finds that he's not in any rush to go. From the looks of it, neither is Hermann.

"We should, um, probably talk about that," Newt says, not really needing to specify what ' _that_ ' is. Not sure if he trusts himself to say it out loud again. "Maybe over dinner or something?"

"How about over breakfast?" Hermann counters.

"Breakfast," Newt agrees, nodding. "Cool."

He gets up from the couch and tilts his head toward the door, gesturing for Hermann to join him. Hermann hesitates, twisting the head of his cane in his hand."What you said... I do too, you know."

"Oh?" _Oh_. "Cool," Newt says again, a little giddy. "You know, if you're not sick of spending time with me yet, I can think of some other things we can do after that."

"I wouldn't be opposed," Hermann answers with a smile. "But first, let's get some _real_ food, please."

"Okay," Newt laughs, "deal."

**Author's Note:**

> As someone who usually finds Classic Who quite charming, believe me when I say those dinosaurs really were [that bad](https://ichef.bbci.co.uk/images/ic/976x549_b/p01bqvk0.jpg).
> 
> Stay safe, everyone <3
> 
> You can also find me on tumblr @chalkstardust and twitter @kaijublueberry


End file.
